General Ramblings comments edit

I watched Christmas Vacation last night, one of the regular movies in my holiday rotation, and as I watched it, I realized something.

My dad is Clark W. Griswold.

Okay, so maybe he doesn’t staple himself to the house when putting up lights or walk around in the attic and drop through the ceiling of the room downstairs - he’s usually very careful about things - but, by and large, it’s Dad.

Like when they find the squirrel in the tree and it jumps out at Clark and the whole family runs around the house screaming? That’s Dad. Or the plan to catch the squirrel in the coat and smack it with the hammer? Dad.

Running around with an electrical diagram of how the lights on the house all wire together? Dad.

Dad doesn’t say stuff under his breath the way Clark does, but he’s thinking it. Like when Cousin Eddie is talking to Clark in the living room and Clark says, “Can I refill your egg nog for ya? Get ya something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?” I don’t think Dad would actually say that out loud. We’d hear that later, once Cousin Eddie was out of the room.

When the lights on the house don’t light up and Clark kicks the crap out of the plastic reindeer and Santa? Ooooh, Dad.

I think the epitome of my dad, though, is when Clark goes off after finding out his Christmas bonus is a membership in the Jelly of the Month club:

Hey! If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I’d like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?

That’s my dad.

A little anecdote. Picture this:

A small house in the country. One-story ranch. Surrounded by a fair-sized yard and a lot of trees. Next door neighbor’s a quarter mile down the road.

Zoom in on the pastiest skinny white guy you’ve ever seen. He’s wearing blue jean cut-offs and knee-high rubber boots. Glasses, brown hair parted on the side. No shirt.

The guy is checking out this swarm of bees that seems to be coming from a hole in the ground. No, wait, not just bees, but hornets. The hornets have themselves a nest in the ground in the backyard.

He thinks about it for a while and heads to the garage. He comes back out with a cup of gasoline and some matches.

I think you see where this is going.

He dumps the gas down the hornet nest hole, drops the match, and runs. A reasonable cloud of fire jumps out of the hole, followed by a very angry cloud of hornets. That cloud of hornets proceeds to chase the guy around the house, like something out of a Looney Tunes cartoon.

That’s my dad. And I couldn’t love him any more than I already do. He’s the best.

General Ramblings comments edit

After playing San Andreas this long, I’ve grown somehow fond of the 90’s hip hop/rap they’ve put in as the soundtrack.

That, of course, has somehow turned me on to Snoop Dogg, who’s greatest hits album I purchased because a couple of the songs are in the game.

Now, while I fancy myself a ‘gangsta’ in the game world, I am a computer programmer/nerd/geek, so you have to take my altogether far-too-caucasian stylings with a grain of salt. That said, I never really paid attention to what Snoop was saying with his songs, I just grooved to them.

After listening to the songs without playing the game simultaneously (i.e., in the car), I’ve discovered the ultimate lyrical insight that Snoop Dogg provides.

Snoop’s songs are primarily about one or more of three very important topics:

  • Snoop Dogg
  • Weed
  • Bitches

Listening to Snoop Dogg has taught me several life lessons. For example, when smoking a joint, you’re only supposed to take two puffs, then pass it on. I’ve also definitely confirmed that Snoop Dogg’s name is, in fact, Snoop Dogg. Have no doubt about it.

These valuable life lessons come to us through such insightful lyrics as “I’m the capital S, I don’t f— with stress, N double O-P D-O muthaf—in double G.” Just in case, you know, you weren’t aware of how to spell “Snoop Dogg.”

In all reality, though, I have to look at this stuff the same way I look at Marilyn Manson: It’s entertainment - all part of the show. It’s so blatantly politically incorrect it makes me laugh, like a Chris Rock comedy concert or pretty much anything by Denis Leary. You can’t help but laugh.

Especially when, after all that, you see Snoop Dogg on a T-Mobile commercial asking advice about fabric softener from Wayne Newton. Too funny.

General Ramblings comments edit

As the holidays rapidly approach and the schedule for my project at work continues to fold in upon itself (in ways I thought only a Guild navigator could possibly accomplish), I realize that there really just isn’t enough time in the day.

At work, I spend the first half of my day in a conference room with three to five other developers, where I can’t get any work done because the sole purpose of me being there is to answer questions. The second half of my day is spent trying to regain composure from the first half of the day, remember where I was in the middle of the project, and try to do a full day’s worth of work in half a day. I’m in the 50 - 60 hour week range, and it’s just the beginning of the project.

At home, I get an average of four nights out of seven every week when I can potentially relax. The hockey season is well under way, which means those other three nights are hockey games which start at 7:00p and end at 10:00p, but it takes an hour to get there (rush hour) and half an hour to get back, so the real time allocated is 6:00p - 10:30p, and that’s if there’s no overtime.

On my nights to relax, I’m torn: There are so many projects I’ve got going that I’d like to work on, but I’m brain-dead from my day at work and I’m not motivated to do more when I get home.


I’ve got the last two weeks of the year off (assuming that doesn’t get canceled for me because the project’s behind), and I can’t wait. I know I just took a week off last month, but man, I’m feeling the need to decompress here.

Hockey game tonight, then the next one is next Friday… then one that Saturday, too… But that still gives me a week off.

Sort of a side note: I just now made some iced tea here at work. They were out of plain black tea, so I picked Earl Grey - scented black tea.

Earl Grey does NOT make good iced tea.

General Ramblings comments edit

Went to the Winter Hawks game last night, and while I insist that this season’s Hawks are mediocre at best, the Swift Current Broncos suck, so we kicked their ass 4 - 0.

It was nice to see such a blowout win, but I won’t lie: it’d be nice if it was good hockey. Connect a pass, guys. Come on. You can do it. At least there were a couple of good fights.

You’ll notice that I’ve turned on the requirement for folks to register prior to adding comments. I came in and looked at the 50 comment spams I had gotten and realized I had to do something, especially since it was still happening while I was reading email. I turned on the registration to stop the spider from adding more comments (they were going down the list of every single entry and adding comments).

I may or may not remove that registration requirement. I don’t actually send anything out to the email list, so maybe I’ll just leave it. It’d be nice to know how many folks come in. Then again, I should probably take the effort and implement my lame almost-CAPTCHA “copy and paste this random word” solution. It’s not foolproof by any means, but I figure my site’s not big enough for folks to invest the time and figure out how to sidestep it. I suppose if they ever do invest that time, I’ll have to move to a solution that actually supports CAPTCHAs.

General Ramblings comments edit

I may have narrowly escaped getting thrown into a bullpen - a many, many person shared cube - because I called it like it is:

First, my productivity would go to shit. I can’t concentrate when there are a bunch of other people sitting in the same room. I don’t care how quiet it is; the fact they’re there is distracting.

Second, it’s psychologically problematic for me. Seriously. Just thinking about sitting in a room with a bunch of people all day makes my blood pressure go up. I don’t think I’m necessarily anthropophobic or agoraphobic or anything, but I do feel pretty traumatized to be forced into a large, shared environment. If I was in jail, I’d probably ask for solitary confinement.

Anyway, crisis averted for the time being.